Reverie
by Ellourrah
Summary: She had loved him as a young woman, had watched him walk away when it meant the most. Now, as an up and coming singing sensation, Tsukino Usagi must face the man she loved as a teen and find out why he left her alone in the darkness.


Tsukino Usagi had everything. The statement was cliché and hardly complimentary to her personality, however it was the undeniable truth in the eyes of the world. She was young, in her early twenties and blindingly successful. To date, she was the only J-Pop singer to actually breach the gap between the small Asian island and the American recording industry. Her band mates were some of the most highly acclaimed musicians in the nation, now bordering on the world as they had just barely signed a 3 disc contract with a powerful recording company and had released their second album, which had hit the 2x platinum mark within the opening weeks and had steadily rose in the charts. The piece was deep and hauntingly interesting, earning the group rave reviews that had echoed across cultural gaps.

Of course, the tall (in comparison) blond had a secret that had greatly influenced that success, one that no one in the world could have hoped to guess. The chord structures and complication of the music itself hadn't been seen in the industry in more than a hundred years, it having been flooded with meaningless, invariable beats, and the irritating 'Oh baby' line that every star seemed to be so much in love with. Instead, it focused on the poetic aspects of the Japanese culture and language, creating a symbolic and highly beautified form of lyrics that was as striking to the mind as the abrupt imagery of Haiku and lingered there for days. All were, surprisingly, written from the girl everyone assumed was...'intellectually challenged'. It also signaled the dawn of a new age in the field of music in which she and her band mates had decided to go artistically, as it called for a full size harp to be placed and played as if the guitars surrounding it were normal.

Tsukino Usagi had everything, yes, but in a sense it was all that in which she felt the greatest defeat. As the media frenzy swirled into dizzying heights and the major nations of the world praised her for her ability and potential, she felt none of it. Despite her obvious youth, she had no intention of spending her life in the limelight, nor giving so freely of her soul that the words of her diary could be repeated on 5 continents on nearly every subject. Having come from a very secluded and respectful culture herself, she found the constant flashes of light frightening, and often found herself trying to hide while eating her breakfast at a cozy little cafe due to the conspicuously familiar cars that lined the pavement on the other side of the fence.

However, this was all fairly meaningless in the eyes of the young woman, as over time she grew more accustomed to their pushy disrespect, their constant nagging, and the blinding lights that threatened the feeble existence of her newly acquired grace. The numbers beside her bank account, though continually growing, held no sense of comfort, and the nights alone in her new home in America were just as lonely, just as hopeless as the nights had been in Japan.

She was a haunted, lonely girl that everyone assumed to be happy. It was due to her many years of forcing a smile and pretty face for her friends, assuring them that she was fine. Nothing was wrong, and that she was obviously grateful to be alive. These were all false assumptions, though. Had one looked deeply enough, seen the pain in her soft, dark blue eyes, noticed that over the years her shoulders would droop a little more, that her smiles were not as blinding, and that her laugh was forced and brittle despite it's loveliness.

It had begun years ago, standing trapped in the darkness, when her heart had been irretrievably broken. Few could have guessed that the rising music sensation had a past in the limelight as well, had been spoken of in revered aw, and had held the lives of the collective world in her small, elegant hands.

Tsukino Usagi was the fabled Sailor Moon, who had risked her own life countless times for the sakes of others. Few knew her dark secret, and they loved and respected her for it, for their fates were all shared. Since they had been young, it seemed that life would have its way with them, taunting them and teasing them as if it were all a harmless game. Through the years, the scars became more and more pronounced, both physically and psychologically, as constant threat had beaten them down, burning them, refining them into the much stronger women they now were.

These were the days that truly mattered in her eyes, followed quickly by the personal life that had fallen to pieces during the already emotionally draining rampages on the city. At 15, Usagi had been told of her obvious adoption, seeing as she was of European descent. Of course, having never taken genetics, the girl was absolutely crushed at the news, having assumed that her previous life had had all the effect, instead of a more reasonable answer such as adoption. It was not the first piece of soul wrenching news she had heard, nor would it be her last. At 16, her parents began to fight openly, saying that they hated each other, and never wanted to see the other again. Early in her 17th year, they split, and never heard from her father again. The coming of Galaxia had been a stark relief in contrast to her troubled home life, as her mother sunk further and further into depression, nursing her pain with the bottle. Shingo had always been at odds with his sister, and the rift between them grew so exponentially that neither had spoken at all since her graduation not long after Galaxia had been taken care of.

The blond woman couldn't help the look of resignation and sorrow that entered her eyes as she fingered the silken material of costume #3, the heavenly blue Grecian dress that had been designed specifically for her North American tour. It had been years since she'd been home to visit. Not that it mattered anyway. The tattered hope that her adoption didn't matter, that she still loved her mother the same, seemed feeble and out of place. If she were to return, her 'mother' wouldn't recognize her anyway, probably slathering drunk on the living room floor surrounded by boxes of pictures she had promised herself dozens of times never to touch again. Last she heard of Shingo, he had been applying for colleges and working two jobs to cover the expensive sake Ikuko loved so much.

Her eyes turned to costume #6, the dominatrix-like black corset and gown that she had blanched at wearing only months ago. Hours of wandering her swarthy California mansion in the piece had lessoned the embarrassment enough that she no longer blushed at the piercing gazes of her guitarists, no longer wondered if the drummer was enjoying the view. What did it matter, anyway, her heart whispered traitorously. She had told them herself they were welcome to look, had pointedly ignored the lustful eyes they had sent her. She knew she was ranked among the most beautiful people on the face of the Earth, was greatly sought after for her elegantly proportioned body and trademark 'Sleeping Beauty' colored hair that stretched down near her ankles when pulled back, and trailed along the floor when down.

"Usagi-chan," she turned questioningly toward the door of her dressing room at the figure outlined in light. A familiar smile spread across her lips, though it was understated. "The curtain's up in ten minutes. Are you ready?" she nodded, blinking against the harsh light of the hallway.

"Yes, thank you, Taiki," her mind wandered back to when they had first met, and the quiet, grave young man had not been fond of her in the slightest. Yaten, his brother, had viewed her with much the same opinion as everyone else -the vapid, stupid blond with a pretty smile. A year or more in the trenches side by side had rid both of them of that viewpoint as her battle hardened mind had quickly and efficiently adapted to every situation, had the ability to read specific characteristics of the new fighters and utilize them in the ultimate defeat of Chaos itself. Their eyes had gone from indignation and irritation, to grudging respect, and finally to quiet friendship. It had been a useful trait as Seiya, the third of the brothers, had convinced her to sing in their little group.

The Starlight nodded and closed the door gently behind him to relinquish her privacy once more. She turned to the mirror inside the standing chest that held her stage clothes, fingering the white satin in contemplation. It must have been a foreordained fact that no matter where she went, someone would throw her in a white satin sheath dress that resembled her mother's far too closely. It was a reminder of a painful, distant past she would have rather forgotten, but the fates were decidedly against her on the point. Every day, her resemblance to the ancient Queen grew more and more pronounced, reminding her sharply that she did not, nor had ever, belonged on this world. He had taught her that.

The hallways to the performance arena were brightly lit in contrast to her dressing rooms, which she always asked to be as dim as candles. It was a safe, cocooning haven in which she could focus, draw on her Senshi strength, and ready herself to withstand the pressures of performing live, which she had never enjoyed. Years of practice had honed her skills as an actress, though, and no one knew of her secret fear -especially now that they were internationally acclaimed, and performing.

Her stagehand guide calmly stepped aside after having escorted her through the labyrinth-like corridors of the unfamiliar arena toward her harp, which sat alone and gleaming beneath the stage, ready for its triumphant entrance. Not long after remembering her past life, she had saved up to buy herself one, as she had missed her own from the Lunarian Courts. Even then, the harshest of critics was forced into awed silence by her skill with the ironically heavenly instrument. Angelic, they said, celestial. Well, Usagi felt nothing like an angel. Angels never made the stupid mistakes she made, they never tripped over themselves or caused someone to cry, or end someone's life as she had been forced to do.

She seated herself behind the heavy cherry wood instrument, adjusting her dress to accommodate for the large wooden soundboard between her knees. She ran a few test phrases to make sure everything was still tuned correctly before taking the earpiece her assistant held and calmly informing the stage manager that she was set through the microphone nestled against her cheek. The platform began to move, ticks being sounded in her ear as the opening notes heralded the beginning of yet another performance. Her fingers deftly, masterfully plucked out her part as the world exploded in color and lights. Her eyes remained firmly closed throughout the transition even as she took her first breath to sing.

Just as the platform ceased movement, her soft, liquid silver voice began to wind through the chords. She had been hesitant to write an introductory piece, seeing as there were no words with which to draw in the language driven masses, no secret truths to lure them into the rest of the songs. But she had been outvoted by her band mates, seeing as they had no real part in playing the introduction. It did give her the chance to adjust to the new lighting, to feel her way along the strings before her, and to steady herself before bearing her soul. Every crowd had been receptive to her wispy, ancient Lunarian style chords and the soft, crescendoing waves of violin and piano that slowly built into a stilted setup for the transition into the more metal-influenced band itself.

Before her, the Three Lights had been known for its very slight edge toward the darker side of J-pop, yet still highly influenced by the bubblegum-chewing, same-beat-over-and-over-again-till-you're-sick-tempo that rules all of Pop regardless of what continent you're on. She had been fond of it herself until memories of a much more complex and beautiful form of music had begun to surface. At hearing her voice in a terrible karaoke reenactment of one of Aino Minako's songs, the three had been completely entranced with the amount of training she had had to endure in her previous life to achieve the subtle blend of classic innocence and soulful depth. It had taken them months after the defeat of Galaxia to convince her that the only option was fame. Seeing as her future was very uncertain at the time, she finally relented on the condition that her harp would be used and that they not be the atypical J-Pop group.

The payoff for her stand had been beyond anything she had hoped for at the time. And though many fans were sad to see Seiya step back to allow her the mic, their fan base had grown with them, could see that the new development was a far better option than they had previously realized. Her future existence was secure now, as she could have easily retired and gone back to her normal life she had craved so much, but even that seemed empty. Everything had gone better than planned, and yet nothing had gone according to plan. The pain in her heart swelled with the crescendo, signaling the entrance of the other performers onto the stage.

Between the chugging guitars and the roar of the fans, there was hardly time for self reflection as they launched into their newest cannon of songs, her alternately playing the harp or out in front of the people in varied dresses that followed the depth and feel of each piece. They had prided themselves on the variety of styles produced on the album, everything from Victorian to pagan to Egyptian and Japanese mixed ponderously with what some might view as a fantasy rock, or even metal depending on the number.

A more recent development had also heralded the beginning of an international career for some of her oldest and dearest friends. Kaioh Michiru and Tenoh Haruka played on one side of the stage, respectively violin and piano parts. It had been wonderful to see them again during the recording process last year, and had been an added strength Usagi had needed desperately at the time. As their fame had begun to mount, so had the pressure to produce an album that would outperform the debut. Every day outside the studio was another mass of photographers and journalists, constantly testing her with questions of the follow up effort. It honestly made her sick to her stomach to think of. Michiru's quiet sophistication and Haruka's teasing strength had saved her from madness, she was sure, though it made the absence of the others more pronounced.

The first four were beginning their lives separately, though they called each other for support at least every few weeks. Kino Makoto, once their strength, now studied floral design in Kyoto and was currently top of the class in the area. Of course, it probably helped that her element was plant-life. Usagi missed her tall, intimidating friend. How much she would have loved to sick her on the paparazzi! One of the more interesting developments in the Amazon had been her innate sense of fashion. Despite being known as the ready-for-action-tomboy, her still exceedingly tall frame had donned clothing far more classy than anyone could have expected from her. Her once iron-hard green eyes had softened and grown a fond smile within their depths. She was truly at peace with life, living and working with her new/old boyfriend of millennia ago, Nakazuki -better known as Nephrite of the Dark Kingdom. The two had chanced on each other during a training session in the mountains when she was 17 and had been inseparable since then.

The success of the others had been nearly equal to this, though Minako continued to have relationship problems and often felt overshadowed by Usagi's blinding success. Having been outdone so completely by her friend, the bubbly blond (who had been born English, and yet been taught Japanese due to military time served by her father) turned to her second passion, modeling, and had been doing quite well in the field since graduation. With Ami at med school in Germany and Rei studying advanced martial arts in Tsumago, the foursome hardly ever saw each other. The thought was depressing, yet undeniably true. They had gone their separate ways after realizing that the death of Chaos heralded a new era for the Senshi; they were free.

All of them had found their ancient lovers, and, though Rei and Jiro fought all the time, all were happy. All, except, for their jaded leader. Usagi had often laughed off the situation and simply joked that the Fates hated her, but the others could see she was still a little...damaged by the experience so long ago. They had tried hard at first to help her, to get her to open up, but she had never indicated she was anything but happy in the presence of her friends. All of them knew she would cry herself to sleep often despite the fake smiles. After a few years had passed, her tears didn't stop. They knew of her difficult home life though she never spoke of it, and understood her need for privacy when the divorce was finalized. Hers had been the only life on the downward spiral, and they had been afraid that one more bump would tip the scale irretrievably. At the offer of the Starlights, all four had unanimously been in favor of the band and had supported the decision ever since. At least she would still be a part of something, where the Starlights could easily keep an eye on her and sound the alert should she begin to slip.

Their reasoning wasn't hard to figure out. If anything, Usagi had been irritated that they thought they were getting away with it thinking she didn't know. She wasn't the smartest person on the team, but the former ditz hardly showed parts of herself from before the Awakening. The fact that the others still treated her like an idiot stung.

Two hours later, and Usagi found herself standing once more in the dim dressing room, staring into the mirror listlessly. The black dominatrix dress encased her like a death shroud, making her already milky complexion turn white, though her cheeks were still flushed from the adrenaline. The stiff corset top seemed strained against every breath and she wondered how hard each would need to be to cause her to pass out. The thought was cut short by the realization that Seiya would soon be there to drive her back to the hotel. No doubt the young man would go into major cardiac arrest to find her in such a position. His feelings were not difficult to read, nor were they welcome. She told herself a long time ago that that aspect of her life had ended.

A gentle knock marred her perfect silence and she turned as the door slid open to admit her assistant, looking rather flustered and wild about the eyes.

"Miss Tsukino, there's someone here to see you. He says he knew you when you were younger." She sighed quietly, wondering when it would ever end. She had never wanted this life of fame and glory, but it paid the bills and set her up for a lifetime of comfortable misery. Both arms drew up around her suddenly chilled frame. She certainly didn't want to greet anyone in this dress.

"Did he leave a name?" Her voice sounded strange and harsh due to the strain put on it for the last two hours. Speaking was never on the agenda after a performance, but it might be useful to meet with this person and see how her old friends were doing. That is, if he wasn't just using a ploy to meet the famous starlet.

"Chiba M..."

"Mamoru." A much deeper voice answered as the door swung open gently. Usagi felt her breath latch in her throat and hysterically realized she might get her wish to lose consciousness.

The familiar tall build was framed by the doorway and coated in light from the hall. He might have been an angel of death for all the picture it revealed. His midnight black hair was still tousled and messy, his shoulders as broad and muscled as she remembered them, and his eyes... She looked down in shock, forcing herself to steady the racing heart in her chest, realizing that those eyes were tearing through her. The dizzy headiness was accented by the appearance of his dark blue orbs, creating the same feeling they always had within her. She hated herself for being so weak in his presence, for forcing her mind to obey for years only to give in the moment he reappeared.

"Miss Tsukino?" her assistant asked quietly, having never seen her boss look so fragile. She reached forward to grip a pale arm to give her strength, but the Jap-American shook her head and turned away.

"Excuse us." having noted the tone of the blonde's voice, the assistant shot a confused glance at the man in the doorway before taking her leave. The door shut quietly behind her, leaving the two alone in the dim room. Usagi released a long breath, trying to find some way of coping with his presence. In the end, she realized the only way to survive the encounter would be not to look at him at all. She fingered a layer of her skirt absently while formulating words in her mind. English had come more naturally to her in the past few years, and thinking in her native tongue took some time.

"What are you doing here?" her voice cracked despite efforts against it. Shame fled to her cheeks and her hands clenched against the black taffeta at her waist. His presence beat against her back, soothing against her high strung nerves. Did the man have to be so cool and collected?!

"My co-worker brought me, actually. He only told me the band was Japanese," he paused for a moment and she found herself closing both eyes in pain. "I thought I might come see how you were doing."

In that moment, Usagi was no longer afraid. After all, spending hours agonizing whether or not he would show himself, wondering if he had even seen their band, had finally paid off in the realization of her worst fear. He had actually come to a concert, and then found it necessary to present himself. Both Endymion and Mamoru were sticklers for protocol and respect, a virtue that would have deemed his presence indispensable should he ever attend one. Usagi felt her heart breaking again as she bit at one lip silently. It was a brief moment, but just enough for her to focus her thoughts.

"How appropriate of you." The combination of her choice of words and the fact that she refused to face him finally struck the older man. Usagi had always been open and caring, even when they had fought with each other years ago. This older, more dignified version of the Odango seemed much more distant.

"You look beautiful, by the way," he added in hopes of calming her if the discomfort was linked with her clothing. She nodded, though still seemed to be staring at the ground away from him.

"Thank you." she whispered, wondering why on earth he was choosing now to notice the fact. Considering their past history, the exact wording was strangely...comforting. A shiver raced across her skin at the weight of his eyes on her back. His hand brushed against her arm, causing her heart to surge into her throat and lodge there yet again as she jumped away from him.

"U-Usagi-chan?" His heart stuttered in fear at her reaction, his throat dry. The bright, chipper girl he knew would never -NEVER pull away from someone as if their touch hurt. If anything, she had been far too open in her emotions, constantly bumping into people and laughing loudly, making a nuisance of herself. A flushed, guilty feeling cankered his gut as he watched her walk away from him.

"Gomen nasai. I...don't do well with physical contact anymore." Her voice was quiet and subdued in stark contrast to his every memory of their younger years.

Mamoru's dark, expressive eyes felt damp and tired as he took a shuddering breath. "Are you alright? Are you...sick?" He scanned her figure, seeing no discernable illness or blemish across the smooth river of skin. Her small, beautifully cut back was pale, but not unnaturally so. Both perfect shoulder blades disappeared beneath the tight black leather of her gown; both long lightly muscled arms were clutched to her abdomen as if she were protecting herself from him. The curve of her shoulder was every bit as elegant as his former self remembered. The thought caused the sleeping giant to stir to life as memories of their past resurfaced again. They were uncomfortable, foreign feelings that belonged to the ancient Prince, not to Mamoru. He had spent far too long trying to forget them to allow them out now.

"Eiie. Did you want something? Because if not, I need to change and go home..." Usagi forced the words from her mouth. His presence was alarming and disarming at the same time.

"I'm not leaving until you at least look at me." He stormed forward, feeling protective of his former ward. She didn't have time to pull away before his hands gripped her wrist and spun the slight form toward him. The other hand gripped her damp cheeks to turn her face toward the light. Endymion within him growled in rage at the sight of her tear-stained cheeks and stuttering breaths. She was shaking visibly now, staring him in the eye with haunted, tortured blue orbs that seemed both terrified and accepting of her fate.

Despite her obvious fear, he could not look away anymore. As a fourteen year old girl, Usagi had been stunning among the olive-skinned, dark haired people of Japan. She had stuck out of their culture like a sore thumb, and yet had filled those few months with such light-hearted banter and joyful smiles that Mamoru couldn't imagine a place without her there to make it like home. Yet, when standing alone in the darkness with her, understanding all that Fate had set forward for them, he had fled.

The memory flashed to the forefront of his mind, blurry yet undeniably true. It had been nearly ten years ago, during the search for the Imperial Princess. All leads had been fruitless and he had begun to lose hope. Then, one day, it had happened. A simple fight gone awry, a fairly nasty wound that would later keep him up at night. More important than the pain was the memory, though. The light had dimmed, revealing the white-clad goddess of the Moon Kingdom as none other than his playful arch foe from the Crown, her eyes hesitant and confused as she had stared at him. He had been so angry, so frustrated with the fact that she couldn't save him from the darkness, couldn't explain his past or his present, couldn't touch his face and cause the memories to reappear, couldn't even walk a block without falling on her face! It had been a moment so filled with anger and passion; Endymion within him strained against the binds to go to her, kiss her senseless and quell the subtle fear in her eyes. Mamoru had done just the opposite. He had told her he couldn't love her, couldn't believe he had given up a year of Harvard to find her. He had even explained that it was not meant to hurt her, but to ensure that he would find his own way in the world.

A week later, he had been on a plane to the Americas to study medicine, and now was a highly acclaimed neurosurgeon. No other girl had even come close to the effect she had had on him, though. No other girl could have him fuming for hours or worried or even, and save him for doing it, but, dress like some eighteenth century nobleman and throw himself in front of youma to defend her. No other girl could make him burn or freeze or laugh or sneer as much as she had been able to.

She was still trembling, staring at him, wondering what he must have been thinking as his eyes roamed her body curiously. She knew he must just be concerned after her last comment. He always was the gentleman deep down. It didn't explain, however, the hunger. Her stomach was coiled in knots having him this close, wondering what he was thinking, tasting his breath and aching so much to just lean up a little bit more and close the gap between them.

Instead, he did.

Endymion and Serenity both squealed in delight at the reunion, but the moment was brief as the chaste kiss broke. The door had opened behind them to reveal her ride for the night, Seiya, staring pole-axed at the couple. His mouth hung open in shock at the sight of his emotionally broken friend in the arms of some stranger.

The door closed again as Seiya disappeared into the hallway to give them time alone. Usagi sighed dejectedly at the broken look in her dear friend's eyes. She had known for years that he would someday understand she could never return his feelings. She had not, however, thought that it would be in this way.

Mamoru chuckled uneasily, releasing her wrist and face and stepping back enough to allow her recovery. She could hardly believe he had done anything like that, as his obvious disapproval had been the finishing blow all those years ago. She found herself beginning to cry again as she realized he must have not even noticed he'd done it.

"Usagi-chan..." He murmured, reaching forward to pull her into his arms. "Sh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you." He paused, weighing the next words carefully. "May I...buy you dinner? Tomorrow? We should talk." She shakily nodded into his chest, calming the sobs enough to speak.

"It's not just because of the dress, right?"

He chuckled, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead. "No, but it certainly helps." He sighed contentedly, burying his face in her hair. "I didn't exactly...mean for it to be like this. I just wanted to see how you were doing." She nodded silently, wondering how their positions had changed so much. Him, Chiba Mamoru, babbling... She couldn't help but giggle a little hysterically. "It's not just because you're a rock star, either. It just...feels..." He started, searching for the word.

"Like home." she supplied quietly, nestling in closer to him.

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So, I'm finally putting some author's notes in one of my pieces. No, don't be alarmed, I'm not going to take the time to thank everyone and their dog or talk about how you should review or I won't update. I'm not like that. Mostly, this is informational for anyone who enjoys my work, more particularly Out of Place. Due to some personal reasons, I will be completely unavailable for writing or updating from mid November of this year to May 2009. I will be serving a religious mission in Puerto Rico during that time. However, plans are already in the works for two more chapters of Out of Place to be released before I leave and at least the final installment of Surrender.

Just as a warning to all of my readers, the final two chappies will not wrap everything up. In fact, I have decided to cut the story in half. Yes, in half. The second piece will begin being released early summer, 2009, along with a few new stories that are in the works right now. To anyone who is interested in leaving personal feedback, I can't guarantee that I will be able to answer, even via e-mail. Those comments should be forwarded to if written between those months. This is just to ensure that they won't be lost if my email account shuts down while I'm gone. Thank you very much for taking the time to read my work, and maybe even my notes. Please feel free to contact me before November 12th if you have any questions.

Ellourrah


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